


Grapeshot my heart

by kinpika



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self indulgent use of Gundam Frames, gundam au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 04:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6737557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinpika/pseuds/kinpika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the handbook, there was surely a line about not doing this sort of thing in a government issue frame. But of course, who would Ryouma be if he listened to every single rule?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grapeshot my heart

**Author's Note:**

> thank u angi for encouraging this au a while ago  
> the alternate title was starf*cker

How had he not noticed the signatures as he had docked? Ryouma was always careful, always checked just in case someone happened to be there. Of course, this was the one time he had been lazy, accepted that a neutral dock would in no way attract the attentions of those pirates. Not that he would ever learn, of course, as it had happened several months prior, near the orbital port of Venus.

“My luck,” he sighs, as he locks into the gate. Clearly, Marx hadn’t noticed him yet, but even from across the dock he could see him floating past his own frame. Maybe he wouldn’t, and Ryouma could finish his business and clear out before they knew he was even there. It wasn’t intentional to avoid him — well, only a little bit — but when they had met the last time, Ryouma had to drag himself back to Mars in pieces, he didn’t want to entice the wrath of Marx.

Saizou passes by, palm pressed flat against the visor to stop himself. Huffing, Ryouma releases the lock, and grabs the offered hand. 

“My lord, we will have to be quick—” And here was another issue. Saizou was ever faithful, but overbearing. No doubt he was just as displeased as at not noticing Marx’s signature, as well recorded and followed as it was. God, that was another thing Ryouma was going to have to deal with, eventually.

“It’s fine. He can’t do anything, anyway. I’m sure their presence is tolerated out of respect for his father.”

If Saizou wanted to argue further, he didn’t. Simply frowned and pushed on, all silent annoyance, with Kagerou bringing up the rear as they made their way to the markets. Landing at the entrance, Ryouma wasn’t sure he would ever get used to how his boots stuck before the artificial gravity set in, but one day he hoped he would. Until then, he always gave an awkward wiggle, as if all the blood suddenly returned to his feet. Being outside his usual station was beginning to wear on him, pirate chasing or not.

At just the thought, Ryouma turned back to see that said particular pirate had disappeared. Ah well.

The market bustled like always, all walks of life shouting over one another for sales. Ryouma pulled the coat around him tighter, not used to just how cold it got this way out of the system. The standard issue suits offered little in the way of temperature regulation, and when he spied something orange and warm, he was half tempted to just try it for the hell of it. 

“If you two need anything, go. I’ll be fine.” There was something shiny in a stall, that caught his eye. A flower that had been crystallised was sitting just over the way, and Ryouma was reminded of another time. It would look, as sad as he was to say, lovely beside the grave on a moon in the next system over.

“But—” It’s Kagerou this time, a frown twisting her face. Ryouma might’ve said something, had he not already been making his way over, Saizou at his heel. She sighs, then, and follows, somewhat annoyed at the current events.

He had a mild suspicion that they were still at odds with each other — if they thought they were being subtle, they were wrong — but he doesn’t hesitate to repeat himself a little firmer. Maybe he should’ve brought Hinoka or Takumi along, as they might’ve backed off a little more gracefully. “If I need you, you’ll know.”

Neither of them argue, but he can feel their judgement on his back as he bends over the stall, picking the flower up. And then, the feeling was gone, when he straightens to pay. They go, melting into the crowd without a backwards glance. Tucking the little flower into the bag on his hip, Ryouma turns, gaze swinging back and forth, just to make sure. Alone. It was such a good feeling to finally be free.

Not that he minded their company, of course, but they were so overbearing. Tilting his head left and right, feeling his neck crack, Ryouma sighed. When they were assigned to him at his father’s behest, he was sure they would stunt any move of his to find him in the deeper reaches of space. All he could hear was their disapproving voices in the back of his mind, at least. A small price to pay, after all.

As he walks on, overlooking at various spreads of metal pieces, things that look vaguely like bits of ships destroyed in the last scramble, and something purple with tentacles, Ryouma likes the silence. But, he also likes the way the crowd spreads behind him, distinctly heavy walk falling over the chatter so easily, so well. Kagerou and Saizou tell him to walk away, in the back of his mind. Ryouma simply turns around. Would Marx recognise him without the frame, without the uniform?

Marx doesn’t, and Ryouma isn’t very surprised at that. It annoys him, being forgotten so easily, but he ignores it. After all, when was the last time they had been together outside a battle? Months and months ago. Mars, maybe? Not that Ryouma considered Marx to simply find idle entertainment, but he had encouraged it once. Maybe he took up the offer and finally worked that pole out his ass.

And then, he meets the eye of the younger brother. Ryouma had never learnt his name, but watching the slow recognition on his face turn to alarm was something else. They had faced off maybe once? twice? Not enough for Ryouma to remember him, had it not been for Marx pointing him out specifically. 

The band of pirates splits up, people going off in pairs, trios, or by themselves. A slow spread, that has the noise build once more, until it was like they had never entered in the first place. Marx’s little brother turns, and points him out specifically, a direct line through the crowd. Holding his gaze high, Ryouma welcomes the sudden look that takes of Marx’s face, no particular emotion outstanding. But, he was a little pissed. Good, Ryouma liked it when he was pissed. 

Fighting the urge to smile, Ryouma turns, and walks aimlessly. He doesn’t need to look over his shoulder to know that Marx would follow. That was what Ryouma liked so much about Marx — he never backed down. Maybe he didn’t realise how easy it was to pull him along. Ryouma had to attribute it to the few years difference between them. Ducking back into the docks, Ryouma slinks past security, around the back and pushed off towards his own suit. 

Catching himself along the helm, Ryouma doesn’t hear Marx anywhere near him. It would have been disappointing to say the least, had of course, Ryouma not known that Marx was the type of person to not back down from a challenge. He wouldn’t even put it past him to try to fire up his own suit, to prove a point. There were numerous things Marx might’ve done.

“What are you doing here?” Ryouma had never figured Marx to be the one to face him head on, however. Marx normally left that sort of thing to Ryouma.

Pushing himself back to give some space, Ryouma frowned, paused. Judged. Marx looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, and his suit was rumpled. He might’ve pitied him, if Ryouma wasn’t sure he looked exactly the same. 

“You look like shit,” he comments, offhandedly. A dull flush filled Marx’s cheeks, but he doesn’t deny it. Ryouma didn’t expect him to, just hits the release on the helm and holds it open. An idle offer, testing the waters just to make sure.

“It’s been a while,” Marx murmurs, not moving. 

Refraining from clicking his tongue at the lack of response, Ryouma crosses his arms over his chest and floats back just a fraction. “Last time we met you tried to slice me in half.”

“Don’t read into it,” Marx replies. “You broke the arm of my frame the first time we fought.”

Ryouma can’t keep the tenderness out of his voice when he speaks. “You _remember_.”

Marx sends him a glance that would make any lesser man shrink. “How could I forget.”

Ryouma pushes his legs against the rim, falling back against his chair, fingers gripping Marx’s lapels. “Come here.”

Marx’s arms caught either side of his head, and with the heel of his boot, Ryouma hit the the button to close the helm. With a _whoosh_ , it seals, and slowly around them the room begins to glow, lights flickering, a slow and steady hum that was the most comfortable sound in the world. 

Marx heaves, leaning in closer until he rested his forehead against Ryouma’s. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“I won’t tell,” Ryouma teases, thumbs teasing at the lapels and the ridiculous number of buttons that decorated his coat. He hadn’t thought that old thing still fit Marx, but maybe it did after all.

“I think that’s worse.”

Ryouma slides his hand up Marx’s side, until he rested his palm firmly against Marx’s neck. Tapping his fingers there lightly, Ryouma smiled. Slowly, he winds his fingers into Marx’s hair, pulling him down, until he could just barely press his lips against Marx’s. “If you want out… the button is right there.” For show, Ryouma taps his foot against it once more.

There is no hesitation in Marx’s voice when he responds, just a hitch that gave him away. “Never.”

“Didn’t doubt you for a second.”

Ryouma doesn't remember the last time he laughed, and the slight crack of a grin on Marx’s face was so foreign, but he’d missed it. Just saw the lingering smile in Marx’s eyes, and moved on, like no time had been lost between them.

Wrapping his arms around Marx’s neck, Ryouma doesn’t let him go, lets him manoeuvre him instead. Legs sliding over the arm rests, Ryouma grunts, Marx pressed firmly against him, solid and hot, fabric sliding, friction building. Ryouma hated the uniform, only when they were like this. Any other time, he quite liked to rile Marx up over how it defined the curve of his waist. “Marx… come on…”

Marx’s hands drop then, sliding down the front of Ryouma’s shirt, slipping up the hem to get at the suit beneath. “The shirt is new,” he comments, as he drags the material higher still.

“It’s yours.”

Ryouma sees a muscle twitch in Marx’s jaw, and he grins. Shirt discarded, hands fly to the back of his suit, Ryouma letting Marx take over with unzipping the horrible thing, far too tight against his skin. Slowly, they reshuffle, Marx being pushed back against the visor, only managing to get Ryouma’s suit to his waist. With an _oof_ , he catches himself, hand above. Thumbs running along the crumpled suit, Ryouma pushes it down, until it rested just under his ass. “Like the view? Or you just… _hanging_ around?”

Marx’s face twists, and he pushes himself off. “You think you’re hilarious, don’t you?”

Despite the displeasure in his voice, Marx’s lips turned up into a smile. Marx pulls at the band of his own pants, not nearly as graceful or showy as Ryouma liked to be, forcing them down to his knees. And, he kicked off from the visor, catching Ryouma unaware, forcing him back. Face hovering just above Ryouma’s, the smile didn’t disappear. It was one of the most brilliant things Ryouma had seen in a long time.

“You want to sit down?”

Marx snorts, and kisses him again. Pressing himself up, the force of it pushes them against the ceiling once more. Marx bumps, a small noise leaving him, but Ryouma swallows it, sliding against Marx and fitting just right. Hand between them, Ryouma holds their cocks firm, thumb sliding over the head of Marx’s, and keeps their hips flush. 

“Ryouma…” Marx’s hand joins his, kicking his leg around Ryouma’s. “I hate these pants.”

Ryouma laughs then, a solid burst from deep in his belly, that have them both shake. “You could take them off…”

Marx fixes Ryouma with a solid stare. “They would just float around. I would rather not.”

“But then I could,” for effect, Ryouma grips the back of Marx’s thigh, “hold you like this.”

Never wavering, Marx just gives Ryouma’s cock a solid tug that has him go momentarily crosseyed. Marx’s name catches in Ryouma’s throat, and he ruts solidly against Marx’s hand, an urgency filling him. Hand slapping against the cool metal above them, a deep whir filled the helm, and Ryouma squinted to see that he could suddenly see the dock behind Marx. Helm lighting up suddenly, Marx craned his neck to see a worker suit move by.

With a yelp, Marx let go, the force of his jump pushing Ryouma back against his chair. Ryouma swears as he hits it, and he would’ve found the situation funny, with Marx’s cock flush between his legs, had Marx not been in a blind panic. 

“They can see us!” Marx hisses, as if they might hear them as well. 

Rolling his eyes, Ryouma rests his hand on his cock. “Are you daft? Of course they can’t.”

Marx turns again, hand pressed flat against the visor. Fasciation filled him, as if he had never considered a one-way visor to be real before (Ryouma just had to think what quality his frame must’ve been in, then). “Really?”

“Did you want an audience?”

There’s a vicious sort of look, that is tampered down if only by them looking at each other at Ryouma’s words. “Take the chair.”

Ryouma pushes himself out, tugging Marx down. Close enough, Ryouma pulls Marx's pants down, to the tops of his boots. Snaking a hand around, Ryouma slides a finger between the cheeks of his ass.

“Can I?” Ryouma asks, again, if only because of how Marx still let his gaze wander over his shoulders. Another out, just in case.

“Please.” It wasn’t necessary

Of course. It never was. “Sit back and put your legs up.”

Marx follows, and a small part of Ryouma has always favoured the part of Marx that took orders so well. So much so that he could ignore his straining cock for the sake of fishing around for lube. “How long has it been?” he asks, laughter in his voice as he watches Marx twitch at the sound of the cap being popped.

“Not since Mars.”

Ryouma almost drops the tube. “Really?”

Looking away, Marx lets a hand dragging down his shirt, an old habit of his. “And you?”

“Last night, just myself. Thinking about you.” As he answers, Ryouma allows a finger to slide in slowly, not at all deterring the grin on his face.

In an instant, Marx seizes, nails digging into the arms of the chair, as he groans. Ryouma is not gentle, but tender, as he slides his finger in and out, building, stretching as another joins. Marx’s hand is on himself, pumping in firm strokes to each push of Ryouma’s hand.

“Ah, wait wait _wait_!”

Marx comes, clamping down on Ryouma’s fingers. It would have been such a wonderful to watch, had whatever Marx not managing to catch floated up between them. Wincing, Ryouma regretted not turning the gravity on in the helm, no matter how fun it was to float around. Pulling his hand free, Ryouma swiped at whatever floated up.

“That’s disgusting,” Marx finally says, between heavy breaths.

“That’s all you, Marx.”

Turning up his nose, Marx says nothing.

“Feel good?” Ryouma finally says, after a moment. For effect, he brushes his fingers against Marx’s hole. Marx shudders, and there’s a definite twitch to his cock, but the look fades into something gentle, unbroken, a hand against Ryouma’s cheek as he leads him up. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers, eyes no longer looking up as if worried someone would be looking in. “Ryouma, I need you.”

“As I need you.”

Holding himself up, Ryouma eases his cock in. Marx stiffens, still tender, not quite stretched enough, and he’s shaking around him. Ryouma hisses, feeling Marx tighten around him, too much, far too much. Slipping forward all at once, Ryouma sits flush against Marx, and thinks he might come from that feeling alone. “You’re so good,” he moans, arms under Marx’s legs. Nails dig into his waist, as Marx doesn’t respond. Only seems to warm a few more degrees, till the point its stifling.  

Marx is off on another level, knees curled over Ryouma’s shoulder. He regretted keeping his pants on then, as Ryouma tried to edge his legs open further. But he can’t even make himself kick off a boot, at least, as he can feel himself tense all at once. Far too much. “Harder, fuck, Ryouma, _harder_!”

Hands scrabbling at his shoulders, Ryouma does as Marx asks. Gaining purchase along the small amount of flooring, he pushes back and forth, wet slaps filling the helm as it’s just them. For a moment, Ryouma does consider letting the glass of the visor go two way, but Marx is shouting his name as he comes, loud enough they might be heard no matter what. Tightening and quivering, Marx is a hyper sensitive mess, choked and brittle, Ryouma giving it his all not to lie spent beside him. He just wanted to drag this one moment out forever, no matter how uncomfortable it was to spend it inside his own frame. Fuck, he thought, as he feels his belly tighten. I can’t give this unit back to them after this.

Just that thought distracted him long enough to mess up his rhythm. Marx pulls him down, a kiss once more, that ends with Ryouma moaning his name along his lips. Ryouma hadn’t even noticed his eyes had slipped shut, as when Marx places a hand against his cheek, he finally opens them, just a fraction. Enough to spy the way the helm sent a rosy sort of glow over Marx’s face, in such a way he wouldn’t forget, no matter which end of the universe they were in.

Ryouma was sure he wouldn’t live that moment down, no matter how much Marx also looked liked like he enjoyed it. As the shakes wore off, Ryouma ducked his head, to let Marx’s legs slowly drop down, noting how one boot seemed a little off, but ignored it. Thumb rubbing against Marx’s knee, Ryouma just barely managed to catch his breath, when he noticed Marx looking just as displeased as he had been before.

“What now?” He was this close to kicking the man out for ruining his afterglow. Marx had awful timing for his mood swings, honestly.

“Turn the gravity on next time.”

Looking up, Ryouma let his mouth fall into a little ‘o’.

 

 

Ryouma stands, holding the visor up, a satisfied sort of grin on his face, despite how cold he suddenly was. Marx floats a way back, hands clasped, looking every bit as pensive as if they hadn’t gone for another round. Ah well, Ryouma thought, as the bruise on the side of his neck was already starting to come up nicely.

“I’m gonna be in Mars in the next month or so,” he says, offhandedly, as Marx looks away for a moment. “Usual room.”

An offer, if nothing else, but apparently Marx couldn’t force himself to miss having a gripe at his occupation. “Oh? And who needs arresting this time, I wonder.”

Grinning, Ryouma lets the visor go, and crosses his arms over his chest. “Marx, if I didn’t know any better, I would say that you were suggesting handcuffs.” Ryouma made a note to bring a spare pair of handcuffs.

A snort, and Marx finally kicks off. “You keep telling yourself that, Lord Chief. I would rather not know what goes on in that head of yours.”

“Hey, you say that, but you want a copy for later, to keep you warm at night?”

Marx looks all shades of offended, and there is no response. But, Ryouma knows, that he’ll see him soon.

**Author's Note:**

> TOTALLY TAKING ADVANTAGE OF THE PIRATE THING i want marx to go (space) pirate. ryouma also probably has a camera in his helm that marx knows about. maybe marx put it there. who knows. 
> 
> also s/o to hark a vagrant comic "[nemesis](http://www.harkavagrant.com/index.php?id=327)" that is the real ryoumarx deal


End file.
